


I know

by Miruuuww



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Dead Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Depressed Dean Winchester, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry Sam Winchester, Im tired, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sad Castiel (Supernatural), Sad Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Dies, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, im sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-07 00:05:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18227237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miruuuww/pseuds/Miruuuww
Summary: Sam dies on May 3rdHe dies alone.





	I know

Sam dies on May 3rd. 

He dies alone. 

It's nothing unusual, or it wasn't suppose to be. Sam and Dean had parted as Sam fought with nails and teeth to go buy an old Enochian book that would help them from an retired hunter. Dean had eased his mind into the thought in four days, and Sam left on a sunny Friday afternoon, in the Impala where Dean saw his baby brother for the last time, alive. 

They had a deal, three to five calls a day, Sam informing every even slightly suspicious thing that could be harmful towards Dean's little brother. 

The first day Sam is halfway through his journey to the seller, stopped in one of the eternal motels along the highways, and Dean heaves a sigh. 

The second day Sam's already in California, settling down to a nicer motel as he and the seller had agreed on meeting the next day. Sam had been excited. It was a rare opportunity, meeting an old colleague, and even if it meant being seperated from his brother for couple days, it was barely worth it. 

Sam called on the third of May. He was in a small restaurant close to the motel, for once eating a burger instead of his never ending salads, and Dean had laughed. 

It didn't feel wrong. It was none of the things that happened in the movies, some kind of sixth sense warning him of the fate his little brother was heading into. Nothing. 

Sam doesn't call in the evening.

He doesn't answer Dean. 

°°°

Dean wonders. 

As he drove through the country, rent car headed towards good ol' California that now had found a place in Dean's 'never go fucking back again', he had wondered. 

After taking the call from local police, asking to identify a body, Dean had wondered. His mind had drifted. Sam had stopped answering his phone, which was totally something Sam never did, knowing his overprotective big brother. Or did he? Did Sam know how much Dean needed him? To answer the phone? Pop to the way too empty passanger seat and laugh at his worry wrinkles? 

How much he loved him?

Dean glances at the seat next to him, but doesn't receive an answer. The road has never been this quiet. 

°°°

Dean doesn't need to look. After seeing the body's outer shape in the bag that was exactly the 6'4 Sam was, he had known somewhere deep inside. As he zips the bag open, Dean remembers Hell again. The burn, the pain and the torture. He remembers the pain mostly. 

It's nothing compared to this.

Sam's brown locks are dirty, some of them slicked with which probably was blood, couple cuts on his rosy cheeks Dean had known from the time he knew nothing else mattered. He knows the thin linned lips, small try of worry wrinkles hitching his baby brother's forehead. He's lucky Sam's eyes are closed. Because he remember the glow in them, and he knows dead people wouldn't have that glow. 

He heards the person next to him ask, speak to him, but Dean can't pry his eyes away from Sam. 

°°°

The old hunter was old, close to seventy but Dean took no pity on him. The guy had known what Sam had done fifteen fucking years ago, and had decided to bait him and kill him like monsters were killed, mutiliated. Dean doesn't give him quick death. 

He drives through the midnight road, breathing through his mouth as he texted Bobby, letting him know they were coming. He doesn't look into the rear mirrors, nor the empty spot by his side. He knows Sam's steady in the backseat. 

He drives without music.

°°°

Bobby meets him in Lawrence, the place where it all started and ended, where Dean bought a house not only three months ago, a birthday gift for Sammy that he never got, for them to retire into. The farm's nice and old, pulled from the people and town, still close enough but far enough. They were suppose to use their old days into this place. Rebuild it, and now Dean doesn't know what to do. 

Cas arrives, and Dean doesn't want anyone else there. 

They build the altar, together in deafening silence as Dean kicks himself over and over again. He's building an altar for his baby brother. His baby. For the same kid he cared for and protected from the very first second he knew of his existance, who he fought with countless time, and who he loved with every inch of his body, mind and soul. 

For a second he hitches, Cas and Bobby notice but won't say anything. Dean trembles two times, sucks in three deep breaths, listens to his blood flowing like a river, and picks up the wood. 

No one says anything. 

When the pile is made, Bobby breaks the silence. 

"Dean- if you want to... I can get him." The old hunter offers, dark eyes now with the oldening hints of grey but Dean shakes his head. It's Sam.

Exactly.

It's Sam.

Dean closes in on the Impala, the five steps he had to take easily the worst ones ever. He opens the back door, and a small tremble shakes his spine. 

In the heat of a thought Dean slids inside the car, pulling Sam's dead body against him. He hugs him close, trying not to flinch at the ice cold and clammy skin, nor the slowly dying skin, hair and nails. He holds Sam close and hopes for dear life his little brother knew. 

He runs a careful hand through Sam's falling hair, and ignores how many pieces is left into his fingers as he closes his eyes. Dean had changed his clothes. The bloodied clothes Dean had seen in the morgue changed into something Dean didn't even think about. A plain long sleeved shirt and sweatpants. A comfortable fit for the trip to upper lands. 

The clothes hide the tears in Sam's flesh, the fatal wounds, old scars Dean remembered all, and everything else Sam didn't usually show around. 

Dean shudders a breath, and for a second he thoughts here we go, but he sucks it in. Locks it down until this is done. 

When they were little, with Dad around or not, Dean used to kiss Sam a goodnight. Whenever he was sick, Dean would hold him close, not caring about the fact that he could easily get sick too. Rubbed Sam's back when he threw up, cleaned his cuts, stitched him up carefully. Cooked him food, got him ready for school. Taught him how to talk, manners and all the shit that didn't matter now. 

Dad hadn't been home when Sam took his first steps. Or said his first words. Dean had felt the undeniable mind-blowing joy and proudness, had laughed and couraged Sam so much that the kid hadn't stopped smiling for four hours and Dean had shred a couple small tears. 

"De'n." For a second the seven year old stared at Sam, eyes wide before his face exploded into many different emotions. He had scooped Sam into his arms, and the small four year old with ruffly hair hadn't stopped laughing or saying 'Dean' over and over again. Dad had gotten home two days later, and Dean didn't give a thought for the hurt look on the oldest Winchester's face as the young Sammy had greeted Dean with a bright smile and glowing eyes."

Dean took a small, shaky breath and leaned towards his baby brother. Saying goodnight for the last time, pressing his lips against the cold forehead he let the tears flow out of his eyes, down his cheeks and drip onto the white shirt Sam was wearing. Both of his hands clasped on both sides of the younger's head, they stayed like that for a unknown amount of time, but no one was there to hurry them out.

Dean would never be ready to say goodbye. 

"I's okay..." With tears streaming down both of their faces Dean let go of Sam, already missing the empty spot in his arms were the younger was always suppose to be. He whispers another reassure, and for once he doesn't lie. He knows it's okay. How couldn't it be? Sam was okay now. Nothing could hurt his baby brother anymore, never again and Sam was happily chilling on some clouds in Heaven, sipping some smoothie, right? It was okay. 

There was nothing else left to say. Dean couldn't tell Sam how much he meant to him, how much he needed him or how much this was tearing his insides. He couldn't tell Sammy how much he loves him, and the mere thought brought back the stinging in his eyes. Sam died without knowing.

No one said a word as Dean slowly heaved Sam Winchester's dead body out of the backseat of the Impala, no one said a word about the tear marks glistening in the evening sun on the older brother's cheeks and jaw. 

No one says a word as the flames swallow Sam, his body and the last thing Dean had about his little brother. He didn't even have the damn amulet anymore, and the guilt was ripping his guts out. 

Watching as the flames burnt his baby brother's body Dean cried silently, couple salty and cold tears following the lines of the old ones, dropping down into the grass of a new summer under the light of a new start. He stayed there till the sun left, leaving only the flames as the source of light that reflected in his glassed eyes. 

He hears movement, doesn't care if it's a friend or an enemy, doesn't care if it will hug him or tear him into small pieces. 

Soon the scent of Cas tickles his nose, and Dean swallows down the disappointment of death knocking down his doors. 

"Dean-" But Cas doesn't know what to say. Not with tears of his own sliding down his face as he watches the brothers he's known for years tear each other apart. Watching his best friend's body slowly burn into meaningless ashes that never had been more important, watching one of the strongest people he knew shatter into the same ashes, if not physically. With Dean Winchester slightly trembling only inches front of him, Bobby Singer a step to the right of him, and never had Cas seen the old gruffy hunter cry. 

"He's okay." Dean blurts out a sob at his words, that mostly sounds of pure relief, but underneath hidden layers of pain that couldn't be put into words. Cas knows Sam is in peace, surrounded by love and happiness, even as if the dead longs after his brother from Heaven. 

°°°

A young boy, around seventeen brings him a letter three days later. He has brown short hair and big blue eyes, couple pimples and the usual self doubt that every his age has. Working as a postman for summer job, gathering money for his own car, and Dean's lips twitch at it. The boy leaves, and Dean's left into the oddness of the farm house. Continuing to hunt was out of question, so Dean had settled into the home that was suppose to be their home. A house that was suppose to be their home for the first time ever. A place they could've grown old in together, sit on the porch with couple of beers and watch the sunset, knowing all they needed and would ever need was right by their side.

Dean opens the letter, and his heartbeat strikes. A handwriting he could recognize even if blind, and a small bag that looked like it was captured from a small gas station. Placing the bag carefully down Dean unfolds the letter, already shaking hands fighting to keep themselves under control. 

"Dean, if you're reading this, then something got to me before you could.

You've cared, loved and protected me from the day I was born, and to the last day of my life. We've had our fights, breaks and everything between, but I've always known I could count on you. Even with Lucifer knocking down my walls of reality and hallucination, I could count on that the real you would come and save me like a damsel in distress. 

There are many things I am sorry for, but this letter is not for that. 

I know this sucks balls, and I know that I am probably just rubbing salt into wounds, but I also know you.

I know you're sitting in some abandoned building you call home now, drinking yourself slowly to death, completely cut out from the outer world. And you're wondering.

You're wondering if I knew how much you love me, if I knew how sorry you are, if I knew what I meant to you, etc.

All the things we never really told each other.

I'm the more emotional chick-flick of us, and I am not complaining. 

The answer is yes.

I know how much you love me, how sorry you are and how much I mean to you. I've always known. 

Trust me, I know.

And I love you too. More than anything. More than anything I ever will. 

That's why I kept it.  
It's in the bag.  
Decide what you want to do with it.  
I'll wait for you.

Sincerely, Sam."

Dean's hands opened the bag, impatient, needy and trembling like he had drank three vodka bottles, trust him he knew the shake, and his throat tightened. 

Wrapping his fingers around the familiar leather string, feeling the all too familiar weight it carried, and Dean pulled the necklace out from the bag. 

The sun was disappearing again behind the trees, the world outside quiet and peaceful as if the cries inside didn't matter to the rest of the world. As if no one heard or felt the same pain that no words were able to describe as Dean Winchester mourned after his little brother, over his last relative that was now dead. 

And as Dean then sat down on, taking a beer out of the freezer between the chairs, he glanced right, the empty spot on the chair by his side still bringing up the feel of oddness. He turned back to sunset, took a sip of the beer, and waited for the sun to take him with it to his baby brother.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for this. It's the first one I've ever published. Sorry for any mistakes, English is not my first language.
> 
> In my opinion there's not enough fics where Dean isn't there when Sam dies. It kinda leaves the option of not getting a goodbye, and that kinda inspired me into doing this.


End file.
